For the Love of a Good Woman
by JesusLoverForever15
Summary: Ricky Underwood has always been the kind of guy to lead girls on...all the way into the bedroom. But can a certain perky blonde Christian help change him from a total womanizing player to a sweet, tame boyfriend? Read to find out. You won't regret it. :D
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys! I'm a fan of the Secret Life, even though I will admit it's totally cliché and usually stupid and sometimes annoying, but nevertheless, I can't seem to get enough of it. Weird, huh? At the beginning of the show, I was totally Ricky-Amy and kind of Amy-Ben, but lately I'm really Grace-Ricky. He may be a total tool, but there's good reason for that, and I just think Grace and Ricky have amazing chemistry and, like Jack said in one episode, I can see Grace being the girl who changes Ricky for the better and makes him into a better person. So I decided to put my passion toward these two characters' chemistry with each other into a little story. I don't know how long it'll be and I'm not even one hundred percent where it's going, so just stick with it and enjoy. Even if you're not a Ricky-Grace shipper, please give this story a chance. Thanks and God Bless you all! :D

**Title:** For the Love of a Good Woman

**Author:** JesusLoverForever15 (My real name is Sarah)

**Rating:** K+ (There's a mention of a sexual conquest and brief mentions of sex throughout, but nothing graphic at all.)

**Genre:** Romantic-drama with some angst. The usual.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Secret Life of the American Teenager; I just like to use their characters for fanfictions. Besides, if I did own Secret Life, I would make Amy and Ashley be nicer to their mom, because I think they take her for granted and always choose to side with their dad, who seriously has the maturity of a five-year-old. Sorry. End of rant. (But, seriously, how could you not love Molly Ringwald's motherly character? I'm a fan of her in her 80's movies, so of course I'm gonna side with her character! Who wouldn't?)

**Note:** In this story, season two didn't take place. That means Ricky's dad is still in jail and Ricky's secret is still safe from Grace and Adrian. It also means the episode where Ricky dumps Grace and Grace does that whole heartbreaking "But you are in love with me! I know you're in love with me! Aren't you in love with me?" spiel never happened. Jeez, it was seriously hard to watch such a sweet person like Grace crying over a tool like Ricky, but I have to believe that Ricky genuinely does care about her and just broke-up with her because he's sick of hurting her and using her for his own sick pleasure. Also, this is a completely random little side-note, but thank goodness Jack got a new haircut! Anyone else agree his old one was not cute and his new one makes him look very handsome? Anyway, let the story begin!

"Ricky!" Grace's sweet, innocent voice sang out. I hate to admit it, but hearing her call out my name in such a needy, excited manner caused my eyes to roll.

I turned around slowly to face her, taking in the sight of her exquisite beauty. Long white-blonde hair set in angelic curls, soft and loose, flowed around her flawless face. Her eyes, the palest of greens with an undertone of the lightest of blues, glowed with pure joy to be around me. Her skin was creamy, smooth, fair-toned. Her build was medium-height, slender, kind of curvy. Her smile was huge with big teeth, pearly white and straight, that were almost blinding. She was perfect and sweet and innocent and pure and everything a regular guy could dream of. But I'm not a regular guy.

"Hey, Grace," I greeted, forcing a fake smile. It was tight and showed none of my teeth, curled up on the sides in a wry way. Anyone could've seen that it wasn't genuine from a mile away, but Grace is a little bit too naïve and optimistic to think I would ever give her a false smile, so she didn't call me out on my annoyed little smirk.

"I had fun on our date last night," Grace gushed in that sugary voice. Our date meaning us seeing some extremely dumb chick-flick and consisting of me scoring a mere handhold during the entirety of the film and Grace giggling at all of the annoying, clean jokes the PG-rated movie provided. Yes, that's right: PG-RATED! Ugh. The only thing that had saved me from ripping my hair out from sheer boredom was the fact that the movie's leading lady was super hot.

"Uh, yeah, me too," I lied, letting her link arms with me and start pulling me down the hallway toward the one class we had together. "The movie was…fun…and you looked beautiful." At least the beautiful part wasn't untrue.

Grace laughed and beamed up at me. "Ricky, you're so sweet!" she cooed before lifting up on her tip-toes and planting a big kiss on my cheek.

This time, the grin that stretched out across my face was real. This is going to sound really unmanly and sissy-like, but whenever Grace's lips met my face (whether it be a passionate kiss on the lips or a sweet – albeit kind of childish – smooch on the cheek) I feel my heart start beating a little bit faster and genuine happiness to flow through my veins. A kiss from a gorgeous, wonderful girl can do that to you if you're not being careful.

"Not as sweet as your smile," I replied to Grace's compliment, turning up the charm. Maybe if I started flattering her some more, I'd score a kiss on the lips. The mere thought sent a thrilled shiver to dance down my spine.

"I love the way you make me feel," Grace whispered as she cuddled into my side. I wrapped my arm around her small waist as we continued to amble down the winding hallways.

"And I love you, Gracie," I responded in autopilot. For me, love wasn't a way to speak my undying, unconditional passion for the girl I cared for most deeply; it was merely my secret weapon, the surefire way to get a girl to fall for me and eventually lead to the bedroom. I didn't love "Gracie." Sure, I might find myself unfortunately feeling all caring and protective of her and might, sometimes, love her presence around me, but the fact of the matter was that the great Ricky Underwood did not fall in love with anyone. Especially a certain anyone who he doesn't deserve and is wrong for, like Grace Bowman.

I gazed down into Grace's magnificent, hypnotic eyes, feeling guilty as they glowed up at me with affection and, no doubt, love. I was the biggest scum on the planet. I was leading a girl on who was obviously head-over-heels for me. I deserved to have a big bucket of acid dumped right over my head.

Grace stopped walking and drew away from me. I missed feeling a hot girl against my body and immediately began to slip my arm around her again. "No," Grace smiled gently at me and swatted my arm away. "Ricky, you always tell me you love me, but I don't think I've ever actually said it back. At least not to your face, anyway."

I didn't like where this was going. I didn't want Grace to make me feel any guiltier of taking advantage of her. I held my breath as Grace proceeded with her mini-monologue, hoping she wouldn't tell me she loved me. I didn't need this on my conscious.

"Ricky," she paused to take a dramatic, excited little breath, "I love you! I love you so much! You're a great guy; you're caring, sweet, always there for me, and really cute. I'm falling in love with you, and I thank God everyday for putting you in my life."

My heart slammed against my ribcage slowly. I felt terrible. I bit down on my bottom lip and balled my hands into fists, feeling the skin stretching over my bones in a tight and painful way. My knuckles began to fade into white from the pressure.

"Wow," I finally managed. I pulled my composure together as quickly as I could and finally uncurled my fists, made my smile look as authentic as possible, and took her hands, pure and delicate, into mine, filthy with plagues of sin and poor decisions. "You know I love you, too, Gracie." I told her as convincingly as possible.

"I know," Grace's beaming expression almost made my heart break. I was a horrible person. But, honestly, I didn't care too much. I just had one goal in being with her, one goal that made all of my guilt worthwhile: to deflower her. It was the ultimate challenge and I was never one to pass up a challenge, especially if it was every guy at school's dream and would make me even more of the big man on campus.

This time, Grace didn't need to reach up on her tip-toes a tad like she had last time; I knelt down the few inches difference of our height and watched as her eyes fluttered closed, her long, voluminous black-mascara coated eyelashes fanning out over her supermodel cheekbones.

I closed my eyes, too, titled my head to the right just-so, and soon I found our lips meeting in a sweet, passionate kiss. I didn't feel the fireworks of love I'd heard so much about, but there was definitely an electric chemistry, a charge of attraction and possibilities that sparked between us.

When we pulled away and I opened my eyes, I noticed that Grace's eyes were still shut. A cute, small smile turned the corners of her luscious, soft, kissable lips up.

"Grace," I whispered softly and seductively, loving the slow way she opened her eyes, almost sleepily. "We have to get to class. The late bell's going to ring any minute, and I know how you're obsessed with perfect attendance."

Grace giggled and we hooked arms again. As we fell into step down the halls, I couldn't help but realize something. Something that crept up to me sluggishly and timidly. Something that was beginning to gnaw at the corners of my mind. Something that was making me feel uncomfortable. Butterflies were tickling the insides of my stomach in a girlish way, making it painfully clear of one thing: that last kiss and Grace's reaction afterward might've made me start seeing Grace Bowman in a new light.

Although it was a dim beam, it made me wonder if I was losing my mind; this new light was one where I saw Grace in a way that didn't center around my sexual appetite.

**Author's Note:** Please review! I can take constructive criticism because that can really help me, but no flames, pretty please. C'mon, review! You know you're little finger is just itching to press that button. It'll take you about five seconds and, in doing so, you'll know you made me feel happy because you took a little time out of your day to show you care about this story. Thanks everyone and take care! 3


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Oh my gosh, you guys! The reviews were so freaking sweet! :D Honestly, they're what inspired me to continue writing this story: for you guys! I apologize deeply for not updating this story in two months, but I thought no one cared about it and Ricky was annoying me by going after Amy and my passion wasn't in it but now I'm back and better than ever! Hehehe :) I promise to try my hardest to, from this point forward, update about once a week or so. I stayed up late last night doing this for you guys, so here it is.

**Side note: **Keep in mind that this story is Alternate Universe. That's a writing term for 'I pretty much make things up how I want them to come, not like how it is in the TV version.' For example, on TV, Amy has already had her baby, but since I'm so far behind, in my story, she still as a few more months to go with her pregnancy. Don't use the show as a reference for my story, because some serious plot points on it aren't transferred into my fanfiction. 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _The Secret Life of the American Teenager_. If I did, the characters wouldn't be as frustrating and have as much stupidity as they possess currently. Also, I wouldn't dwell on a minor plotline for an entire episode (i.e., in the episode where Ben and Amy get married and pretty much the whole episode revolved around the stupid fake I.D. issue when it should've been about, oh, I don't know, Ben and Amy getting married!).

**Chapter Two**

**Ricky's Point of View**

I hate being around Amy Juergens.

That probably sounds horribly mean, but let me explain before you jump to conclusions. Sure, the chick's sweet and she's not annoying or anything, and she certainly isn't ugly, but being around her just makes me feel so disgusted with myself, so awkward, so empathetic, so off my A-Game.

Maybe it's because whenever I see her, my eyes can't help but drift to the flowing fabric doing a poor job of disguising the sizable bump protruding from her stomach. It's so disproportionate from her otherwise slender form. Inside that bump is a living, breathing human being. A son, to be precise. …_MY_ _SON_, to be extra accurate. And I just feel too guilty for ruining her life.

I don't let on that way, of course. I act like some big shot, like I have the whole world eating out of the palms of my hands. But, honestly, I feel more like the universe is caving in on me, avalanching in a mess of complicated lies and even more tangled truths. Whenever I can't breathe, whenever I feel like I'm unworthy of good things, uncapable of love, I just try to block out everyone and be in my own little Rickyland.

But then I see Grace.

And my entire being just feels so happy and free. She makes me feel like the real me, the me I don't reveal to others, the me cloaked with the jet black fabric of child molestation and womanizing and teenage fatherhood. The me I didn't even know I had. The me I'm striving to become.

Today, Grace bounces toward me in a fuzzy pink sweater, pale and girlie and smile-inducing. I don't like the way tiny little knots grab each other's hands and pull through one another inside my stomach, tightening and making me feel like a schoolgirl with a crush on the older, hotter football player. That was a pretty lame comparison, I know, but the realization that a girl makes your stomach get that bundled-in-knots feeling that you thought you would never be able to get in your life can make a guy say some pretty lame things.

"Ricky!" Grace squealed. Her over enthusiasm was a bit much to swallow at nine o'clock in the morning, but I felt an immediate self-satisfied smirk play up at the corners of my skillful lips when, from the corner of my left eye, I spotted a cluster of freshmen boys glaring at me with envy that _the _Grace Bowman was excited to see me.

"Grace!" I mustered up the same amount of overzealous peppiness, swiping off my smirk and replacing it with an Oscar-winning smile of warm, fuzzy greetings.

"How was your night last night?" Grace's sweet voice inquired as she finally reached me, her silver metallic ballet flats pitter-pattering on the floor like a cute, delicate white mouse scurrying toward its owner for a slice of cheese. "Did you sleep well?"

I chuckled inwardly. Grace was the only girl I knew who could pull off that last question without making it sound sex-related. "I slept well last night," I replied, not mentioning that I had been sleeping with Adrian in Adrian's bed last night. "How'd you sleep?"

"I slept amazingly! Sweet dreams, that kind of thing," a blush bloomed like a beautiful rose in Grace's cheeks, crimson and delicate and innocent. "Actually, I dreamt about you," she admitted in a voice so quiet it was almost inaudible.

I fought back a smile, my insides positively beaming with joy. "Oh really?" I cleared my throat and tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Yeah," Grace's voice volume turned up a few notches so she was now in a semi-whisper, "in my dream, you were wearing a tuxedo and I was wearing this really fancy looking prom dress and we were going to the prom together and we left early to go eat ice-cream in this really cute 50's-style diner and then we…" her voice trailed off as she looked up from her light pink fingernails to my eyes.

I don't know what she saw in my eyes, but whatever emotion it was (I'm thinking she saw my eyes grinning at how adorable she is), her hands came up to cradle my face and she searched the depth of my pupils even further before her own beautiful blue-green eyes fluttered shut and she brought her full lips, delectable and soft, up to my mouth.

I immediately assumed the kissing position by closing my eyes and tilting my head just-so to the right and wrapping my arms around her waist to pull her closer to me. I leaned in the few inches it took to close the distance between our lips until we were blissfully, mercifully kissing.

The warmth and love radiating off of her seeped into her lips, spilling into our kiss, soft and gentle yet deep and passionate. A few people whistled and others made rude remarks as they passed us, but we didn't care. We were in our own world, always sunny and lovely and happy.

I reluctantly withdrew from the kiss when my head felt as if it would explode from lack of oxygen. It was unusual for me to break the kisses first, so I knew Grace must've really been into it like I had been (although "really been into it" was the understatement of the century).

"…kissed," Grace finished off her dream summary with a cute giggle but a look of utter seriousness glowing in her eyes.

Her hands still cupped my face and my arms were still encircling her slender waist. I could feel our chemistry shooting off electricity into the air. I shivered deliciously.

Just as I was about to lean in and taste her yummy, fruity lip-glossed lips again, an all-too familiar voice barged into my ears. "Oh, now ain't that just _so cute_," sarcasm dripped from the spicy, Latina tone that always came equipped with the girl known as Adrian Lee. The girl who's bed I had rolled out of this morning wearing nothing but my comfiest pair of boxers.

Adrian's locker door banged shut, revealing her to us. Apparently, she had been eavesdropping. She planted her hands on her curvy hips and strutted over to Grace and me. The whole thing was so soap opera-like that I had to fight back a laugh. Typical Adrian to make a dramatic, attention-grabbing appearance. Not that her gorgeous, exotic looks won't automatically do that for her, but, in some aspects of her life (like being noticed), Adrian's always been an overachiever.

Grace immediately stiffened, her hands falling from my face much like my heart was falling in my chest. Adrian always knows just how to ruin the most magical, amazing moments. She can take the sweetest of sugars and make it taste sour. But she's hot, so all is forgiven, I suppose … hey, how can you blame me? I am a straight male teenager, you know. Cut me some slack here!

I released Grace, instead opting to grab onto one of her hands and hold it tightly. Her fingers curled through mine and she gave a big squeeze. I squeezed back, my signal for letting her know I was here for her, ready to protect her. Adrian could be pretty dang ruthless at times, and by the way her eyes were burning with an angry fire, I had a feeling this was one of those times.

"Oh, hi Adrian!" Even though Grace doesn't like Adrian all that much, her voice was still filled with genuine kindness and a sweet, welcoming feeling in it.

That's what I love about Grace; even when people aren't pleasant to her, she's pleasant to them. When I told her this once, she just smiled real big and said, "awe, thanks, Ricky! But that's not me you're seeing; that's Jesus' love. He's made me learn how to be accepting and pleasurable to everyone." At the mention of the Almighty Savior, I would get that sick feeling in my stomach that made me want to throw up. Let's just say, I'm not a Christian, but I am a believer (just not a follower of Him) and every time Grace mentions God, I feel so disgusted with myself and sinful that I abruptly change the subject.

"Hello there, _Grace_," Adrian spat out Grace's words acidically behind a wall of clenched teeth, as if she were trying to dispose of a bug that had just landed on her tongue.

My shoulders tensed at Adrian's beyond irritated tone. She was so jealous of the kiss Grace and I had just shared that she might've well have just turned into an enormous, hairy, green monster. I wanted to sweep Grace away and keep her safe forever, away from Adrian's harsh, biting tone of voice.

But maybe I didn't give Grace enough credit, because her sincere smile was still lighting up her gorgeous face. I smiled at her smiling and then glared at Adrian's glaring. If looks could kill, I would be laying flowers on Grace's tombstone right about now.

"Hey, Adrian, what's up?" I quickly spoke up when I saw Adrian's eyes narrow and her mouth begin to open as if she were about to give Grace a piece of her very pissed off mind.

"Oh, nothing much," Adrian snapped in response, her temper getting the best of her, "but let's just say I didn't _sleep_ too well _in my bed_ with _my clothes off_, so now I'm kind of tired because of my _sleeping situation_ last night." Adrian's stressing of the key words to our rendezvous couldn't have passed right over Grace's head more than if she had been speaking Pig Latin. Grace is too innocent to pick up on sexual innuendos.

"Aw, that's too bad!" Grace's eyes filled with worry and the hand of hers that wasn't being clutched in mine flew to her heart as she shook her head back and forth. She was the poster child for love and concern. "Maybe you should try a nice, hot cup of chai tea before bedtime. That always helps me! And praying, of course, is the key ingredient for a good night's sleep."

Adrian blatantly ignored Grace, not even bothering to look at her, her big eyes, dark chocolate-colored and fawn-like (minus the innocence, plus the naturally thick, mile-long black lashes) staring straight into mine. "So, Ricky, how'd _you_ sleep last night? Was _your_ bed nice and warm and comfy?" An enormous, cocky smirk stretched across her attractive face, carving its way through her pale cocoa complexion.

"I slept fine last night," I broke eye contact with her and instead looked straight into Grace's hypnotic, gentle gaze. I lifted up my hand, the one that had hers cradled inside, and gently scooted my hand off of hers until only our fingertips were lightly yet firmly grasping onto each other.

Our eyes stayed locked the entire time, and I couldn't help but smile brightly as a warm feeling crept through my toes (jeez, how horribly girly do I sound?). Grace smiled shyly and her cheeks were painted with a pretty, pastel pink-colored flush. I fanned out my fingers and she followed suit as we pressed the palms of our hands against each other. I let my hand trickle down to her wrist before tenderly wrapping my fingers around her soft skin.

I then pulled the back of her hand up to my lips and kissed it gently, still gazing into her eyes. It was like we were the only two people in the world. I wondered if this was what falling in love was supposed to feel like. Having never experienced it before, I couldn't find the solution to my question.

"_Ahem_!" Adrian faked cleared her throat loudly to snap us back to reality. Grace and I abruptly snapped our heads toward Adrian.

"Gosh, you guys are so disgusting!" Adrian sneered, particularly glaring at Grace as she stated her unwanted opinion.

Grace's blush turned an angry shade of red but she just chose to be the better person, as always, and let Adrian have the last word. But I didn't care about being the better person; I care more about defending my honor and, more importantly, protecting Grace from any sort of harm, whether it be physical or emotional.

"Adrian, mind your own business," I snarled back, "and get outta here!"

Adrian laughed rudely and then her eyes dropped to my mouth and she licked her very plump lips, most likely thinking about naughty things. She tried to be all seductive by giving her mountainous amount of luscious, think, raven curls a toss over her shoulders and sliding her arms slowly over her big, protruding chest (unfortunately, it did the trick).

"I'll see ya later, Ricky," she giggled as she saw the tense way my shoulders bunched up, the annoyance in Grace's expression, and how, in that way only Adrian can read me sexually, I really wanted to feel our bodies closer and closer and closer.

And that's how I know I can't be completely falling in love with Grace Bowman; I still feel that intense physical attraction toward Adrian. And this lust is too strong to be something a man in love would ever feel.

As Adrian twirled her back to us and strode away, her huge butt dancing across her swaying hips in a mesmerizing, engaging way as she did so, I became certain of once thing. My life was about to get very complicated. Whatever was waiting around the corner for me, it'd guarantee I would be in for a wild ride.


	3. Chapter 3

**Important Author's Note (Please Read): **Hey guys! Wow, so I am seriously way sorry that it's been forever since I've last updated. I'm going to admitted three things to you guys, one of them which is kind of embarrassing: these are the excuses why I haven't updated in forever (besides life's everyday busy happenings). First, _The Secret Life_ has gone way down hill now and is just so ridiculous that I only watch it for the guilty pleasure of said silliness. Second, I still love Grace and Ricky circa season one, but I don't see that chemistry sparking between them in the newer seasons, which makes me lose some passion for writing about the characters falling in love.

And third, and this is the aforementioned kind of embarrassing reason: no one ever gave me feedback (I know that some of you awesome readers did by commenting and adding me to alert/favorite lists and honestly, thank you guys soooooooo much for that! :D It's the best compliment an author can get and it always makes my day! You guys are amazing! 3), and the little feedback I did get, while awesome, was few and far between, and to be honest, since I was losing passion for the characters, when you guys don't tell me to write more, I don't think anyone cares if I write more, so that makes me even _more_ uninterested to write the story. Now you guys are probably all rolling your eyes and muttering "what an ego!" but I promise that's not the case. My fellow fanfic posters, doesn't it make it so much more worthwhile to post stories to the public when they actually _respond?_ Or else it kind of feels like you're wasting your time and, if you're me, you work on non-public hopefully-future-novels and read and hang out with your incredible family instead, and now I'm rambling like an idiot, hehehe. **(I also want to add that the reviews I did get were so wonderful and you guys are so awesome to have posted them, and I don't want to seem ungrateful for the comments I did receive.)**

Haha, by the way, if any of you guys actually bothered to read those two looooong explaining paragraphs above, I applaud you on your patience and tip my invisible (but extremely cute) hat to you. ;)

The reason for all of my babbling is to let you guys know this: commentors, thank you so freaking much! Much love to you guys! :D And I promise to start updating way more because, even if it's just one person who enjoys my work and stays tuned to the story, I'll know I've done my job correctly. That's my new mindset. I guess I'd just love it if everyone who read my story and liked it would comment, but I understand that it's just _sooo_ much work to click that little button and write a few words of encouragement (haha, sorry for the teasing sarcasm, and believe me, I'm guilty of being too lazy or uninterested to reply to other people's stories, and I honestly do understand).

=) So, without further ranting, I shall go through with the technicalities and commence with the story!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _The Secret Life of the American Teenager_. If I did, it would be way different. They wouldn't say the word "sex" 56 times in one episode (that's not a hyperbole; somebody counted the amount in the episode before last and posted it on YouTube! I know, the writers have some strange obsession with the word 'sex,' right?).

**Reminder:** This story is Alternate Universe, meaning that it's still set in season one's era; Amy's still pregnant and Ricky's still pursuing Grace and yadda yadda yadda; you get the drift. Pretty much read this story like you've never even seen _The Secret Life_ if you get easily confused, haha. =) And now, let the story continue!!!

**Chapter Three**

**Grace's Point of View**

I'm not the kind of person who complains a lot or dwells on the negative, but there's just something about Adrian Lee that tells me to turn the other way, seize Ricky's arm as securely as I can, and run, taking him with me.

Maybe it's her too tight, too revealing clothes or her make-up, which is far from natural. Maybe it's the way she says my name ("_Grrr_ace", like she's an angry lion growling the first syllable and spitting out the last syllable as if it were a gross fly that had just flown into her mouth) or the way she possessively rubs her hand up and down Ricky's arm whenever I see them talking. But, if we're being perfectly honest here, it's all of the above. And, to continue with the sincerity, it's not that those are the only little things that bug me about Adrian, it's the fact that I just _don't_ like her _at all._

Yeah, yeah, have your little gasping "ohmygosh, did you guys hear that, Grace Bowman just confessed to not liking someone, and not only does she not like them, but she doesn't like them _at all_!" moment. Embrace that moment. Love that moment. _Be_ that moment. (Uh, sorry, I guess I hear too many motivational pep talks what with being on the cheerleading team and all.) You can throw this back in my face all you want, but the truth is plain as day: Adrian Lee is trouble, and I'm not talking that cute childhood board game. I'm talking…lean in close please, so I can whisper this next part…_sex_! Yes, you heard me right, she is _not_ a virgin!

And worst of all: Ricky's her number one sexual partner. At least, he _was_ until we started going out. Now they stopped. No, really, you can stop laughing, I'm being serious. Ricky hasn't had sex with anyone since we started going out, honest. Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time: _stop laughing_, I'm being completely and utterly serious. Jeez! (Sorry for losing my patience there for a second. But people not believing you can be so frustrating! Whoops, there I go again, losing my temper. So sorry! Please forgive me.)

Ugh! Can't you see the way Adrian jumps into my mind in a rude, unwanted fashion, manipulating my emotions and making me feel so insecure? It's horrible!

The only reason I'm telling you guys this is for one reason: so you can be prepared. Let me elaborate. I wasn't prepared at all for what you guys are going to be reading during this chapter. In fact, I didn't even find out about it until later! But I felt like you guys should get a warning that Ricky and Adrian…er, well, they have _sex_. Premarital sex, to be exact. Okay, whoo, got that off my chest! All right, so now that you guys have been fairly cautioned and can go in there with your war paint on and "Grace and Ricky 4Eva!" victory flags waving about, I think I'll do the honors by saying, "Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, let the story begin!"

**Ricky's Point of View:**

In my life, there are two kinds of rushes I'm accustomed to.

The first rush is exhilarating and exhausting and exciting and amazing. The first rush is thanks to sex. For those of you who've had sex, you know exactly what I mean. For those of you who haven't, hang in there; your day will come (if you're like Grace, you'll have to wait until marriage, but whatever. To each his own, right? But let me also say that if you're like Grace in the sex department, I do _not_ envy you.)

The second rush is a rush that is too girly to admit, so it stays between you and me. This rush wraps around my heart and soul whenever Grace and I are kissing. The build-up before the kiss makes something in the air around us crackle like the driest static as we're leaning in toward each other. And the second our lips meet, there's an explosion of passion, but this passion is less sexual attraction and more of something I can't quite place. So as we're kissing, said rush swoops in like a raven and flaps all over me in a fierce way.

It's the feeling of falling without a safety net, but simultaneously not being afraid because you know the person you're kissing would never let you crash into the ground. It's the feeling of everything else in the world fading as your senses of the kiss sharpens and it's just you and that person together forever, lips pressing harder and harder as if they want to make love to one another. It's so delicate and breakable yet so ferocious and full of passion that you don't know what to accept and what to regret in terms of how the kiss makes you feel. Whenever I pull away from kissing Grace, I always want to dive back in for more, more, more, to get back to that place where nothing can harm me and it's just me and her, kissing and embracing and floating away together.

Some call it love. I call it the art of a good kisser. More like the art of a freaking fantastic, should-teach-lessons-on-it, amazing kisser.

The only tremor in my theory? Grace's technique is a lot like other girls I've kissed. And considering I've kissed a lot of other girls thus far, I think it's safe to say that Grace and I having such epic kisses isn't because she's naturally talented or because I'm so experienced, but because her individual soul and my individual soul mesh so well together that the only way they can express their feelings and emotions without sex is through our kissing (which isn't even a make-out session or even French-kissing most of the time).

Okay, so now that I'm done sharing all the juicy details on my two rushes, allow me to explain _why_ I bothered babbling on and on about the differences of a sex rush and a kissing Grace rush.

Right now I'm in Adrian Lee's bed. Our clothes are strewn around the floor and we're sweating and letting our bodies tangle as we do a naked, under-the-covers tango, if you will. That's as far as I'm giving you a mental picture. Sorry if it was too graphic for you, but I wanted to find a non-cliché, non-obvious way of letting you guys know that I am currently having awesome sex with Adrian.

I'm feeling that sex rush and am loving it so fully. My endorphins are being released at an all-time high and my mind is consumed with the image of a nude Adrian before me and the way we fit so easily together, as if from all of the countless times we've slept together (without the actual "sleeping" part) has molded our bodies to be made for each other.

But there's something in the back of my mind, a nagging thought that keeps poking and prodding at my fun. _Grace is your girlfriend_, it keeps reminding me, as if I could forget, _so this is technically cheating on her._

And that's why I never do serious, committed relationships. I can't branch out in my sexual endeavors and am stuck with one girl. Grace is a particularly tough situation because I can't even have sex with her! So I'm forced to retreat to Adrian and other girls to get my fix. The only reason I'm even "going steady" (her words, not mine) with Grace is because of the whole, I-want-to-be-the-one-to-deflower her thing.

Yes, even though I care so deeply about Grace, more so than for any other girl ever, even Adrian, I still want to have sex with her. Bonus if I'm her first. I _am_ a straight male teenager, you know, with an active imagination and a sexual desire that most people my age wouldn't know how to handle.

Adrian and I were finishing up the last of our sex, coming up on the finish line. It was in sight now and soon we were crossing it and Adrian and I were screaming in victory. Then we were done and we unwrapped ourselves from each other and lay beside one another, not exhausted (we're pros, after all) but not exactly up for round two either.

"Wow, Ricky, that was incredible," Adrian's voice was breathless and the compliment made a cocky grin spread swiftly across my face.

"You know never to expect anything less from me, babe," I pointed out, adding, "you weren't so bad yourself."

Adrian turned toward me and gave me an offended glare. "_Not so bad_?!" She snapped. "How dare you, Ricky! You know I was amazing!"

I rolled my eyes at her dramatics. "Jeez, Adrian, I was only kidding. What's gotten you so _sensitive_ lately?" I said the word "sensitive" in a disgusted, horrified way, making sure it dripped with disdain and disapproval.

"Maybe all this affection you're constantly showing Grace has gotten me a bit shaken up, doubting myself," Adrian admitted, quiet and embarrassed. "I don't like feeling insecure, but you're always with _her_!" She said "her" in the most accusing tone, her voice raising a few decibels.

"What do you expect? I want to have sex with her, okay? And in order to have sex with her, I need to make her trust me and _love_ me and that's all a step up from your everyday ordinary seduction," I was losing my patience with Adrian's neediness.

That was the one thing that had always separated Adrian from the rest of my random, faceless sexual exploits; she was so independent that I always knew there were no strings attached when we had sex. But now I was getting the horrible feeling that, considering my showing more attention to Grace than Adrian made Adrian feel "insecure", Adrian might actually be falling for me. And that just wouldn't cut it.

Adrian muttered a few cuss words in Spanish under her breath before rolling out of bed. She made sure to grab a blanket that been dangling off of her side of the bed so she could wrap herself up in it as she emerged from the covers and stood on the floor, facing me, a pained expression on her face as she stared helplessly at the ground.

"I want you to leave," her words were a strangled whisper; she obviously didn't want to speak them, but she also clearly meant them. If her unsure expression was any indication, she was conflicted.

"Oh, c'mon, Aid," I gave her my best apologetic and sheepish look I could muster under my frustrated feelings, "get back in bed."

"No!" The word shot out of her mouth with so much power and meaning that I was taken aback. She met my eyes then and I could see how furious and ashamed and humiliated she was. "I want you to get out of my house!" Her voice was so loud and sharp that it was just short of an inhuman shriek. "Get your {word censored} stuff out of my {same word censored} house and never come back again!!! I hope you have fun {word censored again} Grace when the time comes, and I hope it kills you to know that by her thinking it's love and you knowing it's just a meaningless {word censored} will kill your precious Gracie, too!"

She was now screaming at me so loudly that I was stunned speechless. Her eyes were wide and bright with an ire I had never met before. Her face was dark red and the tiniest vein bulged near her left temple as she exploded at me. She was shaking and tears were filling her eyes and pouring over and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably.

I didn't know what to do, so I hopped out of bed and threw my clothes on in record time. "Adrian, I---" but before I could finish the rest of the apology she interrupted me.

"Don't," the word was broken and weak, almost inaudible through her choked sobs. She pointed a French-manicured index finger to the door, and I felt guilty at how much her hand quivered. "Leave…right…now!" I could tell it took her great effort to get the words out through her weeping, but she managed to shout them at me.

I felt a guilt I had never felt before, so torturous as it ate away at me. Everything Adrian said was true and I deserved to be yelled at by her. I hurried from her house as quickly as I could without running, making sure to lock the front door behind me as I exited.

To make matters worse, to add insult to injury, my cell phone buzzed in my front left jean pocket, one short vibration; my signal that I had just received a text message. I pulled out my phone and flipped it open. "From: Grace" the screen announced.

I selected "Read Text Message" and braced myself for what the message held. Did Grace know that I had blown off our date for a night of meaningless sex with Adrian? Of course not. I was getting way too paranoid.

In actuality, the text message said something far worse. "Just wanted to say I love you and miss you and wish you didn't have to stay home. Sorry you got grounded! I'll be praying for you. I 3 U =)"

My heart sank to my knees and my guilt tripled, which brought about so much pain to my soul, such a crushing feeling to my heart that I wondered how I was still able to breathe. I didn't bother replying. I didn't want to lie to her anymore, but I also didn't want to break her heart with the truth, so I figured it best to not respond at all.

Instead, like a zombie, I let my feet drag me mindlessly to my car. I hopped in, buckled up, turned the keys in the ignition, and turned on the radio until it was blasting heavy metal so loud that it normally would've given me a headache, but now it did the trick by drowning out my thoughts and feelings. I concentrated hard on the crashing of symbols, the banging of drums, the merciless wail of the screeching electric guitar. The lead singer was a guy and had a very scratchy, off-tune voice that he screamed from the top of his lungs, something about the anarchy of the Stock Market or something. I couldn't really make out the words, but that was fine with me. The chaotic sounds were distracting enough.

Then I did the one thing that helps take my mind off of the world. I drove. I drove away from Adrian's house, were she was bawling her eyes out and mourning how much of a tool I really am. I drove away from town, where Grace was somewhere thinking about me and how good I am, oblivious to how much of a joke my nice guy façade had always been. I drove away from everything familiar until I was speeding down the highway to unfamiliar territory. But the one thing I couldn't drive away from was my guilt, which devoured me and murdered my conscious.

And since I couldn't escape this guilt, couldn't drive away from it, I swung my car into a parking lot, almost crashing into a passing truck as I did so, barely able to hear his warning, angry horn blaring at me over my radio, which had long since changed songs into one with even more confusing lyrics and obnoxious instruments.

I pulled up to the front of the liquor store, parked, and got out of my car, accepting the fate that awaited me inside.

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, I usually don't add an author's note to the end of an entry, because I don't want to take away from the lasting thoughts and feelings the chapter gives you as it draws to an end, but I did want to say a few things. First off, the short little peek into Grace's point of view was for two things; one, I wanted some comic relief, even if it did come at the beginning of the chapter, because I felt this chapter was pretty raw with Adrian and Ricky's emotions (her love for a boy who will never love her back, his guilt over hurting two girls he cares for) and two, because I wanted to find a (hopefully you guys agree) cute way of letting ya'll know that sex is mentioned quite abundantly in this chapter, and although I tried not to be graphic, I did describe just a smidge of the mental picture.

I don't want to offend anyone, so I decided to change the rating to T, because the minimum age is 13 for T and K+'s (the old rating's) minimum age is 9, and I don't think most 9-year-old's parents would want them reading about sex. It _is_ Ricky's point of view, so he does love sex, and I felt a guy like Ricky would elaborate more about sex than just "Adrian and I had sex. It was really good. I liked it. Yay!" Lol, but seriously, I am trying to be realistic with the tone of the story and how Ricky sees things. Haha, but I will admit that the whole "Adrian and I were finishing up the last of our sex, coming up on the finish line. It was in sight now and soon we were crossing it and Adrian and I were screaming in victory" part made me immaturely giggle, especially the "screaming in victory" part. It was a kind of silly analogy to compare the ending of great sex to finishing a race or a marathon, but whatever. I felt like it fit (pardon the slight pun), lol. (Also, considering I'm committing to be a proud virgin til marriage, I don't really know anything about sex, so I hope that it came off like I did, just since Ricky's supposed to be very, er, _experienced_ in that field.)

So, in conclusion, I hope that my fellow prudes out there aren't shaking their heads at me and vowing to never read this story again. I also hope that I left a bit of a cliff-hanger here. It may not have been major, but use your imaginative and put two and two together; why would Ricky go to a liquor store? _Especially_ when he's driving. Ahhh, yes, I hear the wheels turning in you guys' brains. Haha! Okay, pretty please with extra sugar and a mountain of cherries on top review this chapter with your honest opinions. It'd be much appreciated! Until the next entry, farewell and God Bless! =) And to all you who took valuable time out of your lives to read my story, I thank you tremendously. 3 You guys rock!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** The reviews were freaking awesome! I truly do love them and appreciate you guys so much! :D Awwwww! Lol. I want to add a quick explanation for why in Grace's text to Ricky it said, at the end, "I 3 U =)". Well, the 3 was supposed to be a heart, with the arrow pointing left (in Math it's the less than sign) right before the 3, but for some reason that symbol doesn't show up on this website. So really, Grace was saying "I {heart} U =)" not "I 3 U =)", which makes no sense, lol. Same thing for anytime you see my author's note saying "3"; it's supposed to be a heart. Haha, just wanted you guys to not be trying to decipher some hidden code that's not really there or something. Okay, so since you guys were so amazing with the quick reviews, I decided to have this chapter posted much earlier than planned (it was originally going to be sometime early next week). I felt like you guys deserved it, and frankly, I owe you guys since all of my chapters thus far have been spaced so incredibly far apart. This chapter was actually supposed to be posted yesterday, but I had to e-mail it over to my account at my wonderful grandmama's house, where I spent the night last night and am right now, and her computer didn't work last night so I was only able to receive the e-mail today and finish this chapter. Okay, here we go!!! =)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _The Secret Life of the American Teenager_. ABC Family does. So there ya go.

**Reminder: **This story is Alternate Universe; things are much different here than they currently are on the show.

**Chapter Four**

**Ricky's Point of View**

_Flashback:_

"_Happy birthday, Ricky!" Grace's melodic voice sang out as she scampered toward me, a red wrapping papered box with a soft-looking, velvet blue bow cradled gently in her hands as if it were a baby bird with a broken wing she'd just rescued from outside. _

_We were at school, with about twenty minutes before our first class began (so I like to get to school early to hang out with my friends; what of it? It's not like I actually __**like**__ school or anything), and the air conditioning drifting from the nearly empty hallway's vents wafted Grace's trademark fresh-from-the-oven, warm vanilla cookie scented perfume delightfully into my nostrils._

"_You remembered?" I wasn't able to keep the excitement and surprise out of my tone as Grace's mesmerizing eyes, the lightest of gray-blues combined with the palest of sea foam green, sparkled at up at me with sheer happiness._

_A gigantic, idiotic smile broke across my face; I quickly bended it back into my signature smug grin, but Grace had already spotted it. "Of course I remembered, silly goose!" She took hold of the present with just one hand and used her now freed hand to playfully tickle my side._

_I'm not a ticklish person, but for Grace's sake, I forced a chuckle and swatted her hand away. "Stop it!" But the laughter that was spilling from my now smiling again lips was real this time, made of joy and something that, if I hadn't known better, I would've thought was love._

_Grace was beaming brighter than the sun, her pearly whites practically gleaming. She started bouncing excitedly on her tiptoes as she thrust her gift toward me. "Open it, open it, open it!" She chanted adorably._

_I couldn't help but release a genuine chuckle. Grace had never been cuter in her life; I was sure of it. "Oh, for little old me?" I pressed my hand to my heart, pretending to be shocked, and used a fake Southern accent._

"_Duh!" Grace playfully rolled those big, beautiful eyes, her long, mascara-blackened eyelashes, lush and long, fluttering as she did so. "Now open it up right now, mister! I spent my own money on it and everything!"_

"_You're too cute," I blurted, laughing at her enthusiasm. What really topped it all off was how Grace had been sure to tell me that she'd spent her own money on it, which was something children usually bragged about when presenting a gift they bought to somebody. It made Grace's innocence even more real and it made my heart skip a happy beat for some reason._

_Grace giggled delightedly but a look of mock-impatience was scrunching into her features. "C'mon, Ricky, open it!"_

_I laughed again and finally took the gift from her. I jokingly began to __**slowly**__ rip away piece by piece of the wrapping paper. Grace slapped me lightly on the arm. "__**Ricky**__!" She pretended to whine, giggling again. The way she stressed my name made a girlish tingle attack my spine and I shivered involuntarily at the gentle touch of her delicate hand smacking my bare, T-shirted arm._

"_Okay, okay," I held one hand up in surrender and then quickly untied the bow before tearing into the wrapping paper, showing no mercy. Little bits and huge chunks of so-shiny-it-was-almost-reflective red wrapping paper fluttered slowly to the floor like confetti. It reminded me of Christmas, where everyone is joyful and the weather is blissfully cold for once, so I started getting excited about my gift all over again._

_Soon I was holding the actual present in my hand, which was a brown cardboard box. "Thanks for the box, Gracie!" I teased. "How did you know it's exactly what I wanted? You can never have too many packing supplies!"_

_Grace laughed. "Maybe you should actually__** open **__the box and see what's inside," she suggested, smiling broadly, as if she were certain I would absolutely love the gift (which of course I would; it came from Grace, after all) and couldn't wait to see my reaction._

_I carefully peeled off the tape sealing the box together and looked down to an ocean of white Styrofoam packing peanuts. I gently scooped my hand through the box until it made contact with something pretty hard yet breakable feeling. I then clutched my hand tenderly around it and pulled out what my gift was, using my other hand to set the cardboard box onto the ground._

_As I finally realized what my present was, I was overcome with a myriad of potent emotions. "Grace," my voice was a low, stunned whisper, and I feared I would get choked up, but luckily I'm pretty sure I'm immune to tears._

_I looked up and met her eyes, which held a depth that showed she truly understood why she had had to get me this gift. I now held the delicate snow globe in both hands and used my fingers to tenderly stroke over the smooth glass orb, which held falling "snow" swirling around inside and a little figurine of a brunette female ballerina dancer, dressed in all pink (light pink leotard with a matching pink tutu and pale pink ballet slippers), posed with her right foot resting perfectly on her right thigh, while her hands are risen above her head, holding a small, precious brown-haired baby boy wrapped in a light blue blanket._

_I turned the little sterling silver knob at the base of the snow glob, which was also sterling silver with ornate, complicated, beautiful designs carved all around it. As I gave the oval-shaped knob a full turn around, hearing the wheels within cranking to work, I felt a powerful feeling of warm nostalgia hit me so fiercely that I was certain tears would prickle my eyes any second._

_Combined with all my other dozens of emotions attacking me, most with positive connotations and only a few slightly negative connotations, I could barely breathe. And as I released the knob and the tune of the ballet song "Swan Lake" beautifully trickled out from the snow globe, I could feel my stubborn tears arriving for duty at my tear ducts. As the music played, the ballerina within the globe slowly but precisely turned around clockwise, over and over again, the baby held high above her head like Simba from __The Lion King__, as if she were just so proud of her baby. The baby looked like he was contently sleeping while the woman was gorgeously smiling, all the joy of a new mom._

"_Ricky, it's okay," Grace whispered to me. "Nobody else is around; you can cry." Her words were so soft-spoken and pure and I turned to her as the haunting song of my childhood reached a particularly strong build-up of instruments._

"_I love you, Grace," and that was the only time I proclaimed my love for Grace and could feel my walls coming down as I let myself actually accept that Grace was my first love. It's the only time I ever told her I loved her and could actually feel it so powerfully that, at that moment, I was certain I would never cheat on her again, was certain that we belonged together._

_The final bricks guarding my heart tumbled down and I let Grace in at that moment, both literally and metaphorically. I set the snow globe onto the tiled floor and pulled Grace swiftly into my arms, squeezing her tightly, never wanting to let go._

_Tears leaked from my eyes for so many reasons. I was so thankful for Grace's gift, but more importantly, I was thankful for Grace herself. I was so in love with this woman and my heart had to express itself through joyful tears. I was so ashamed and remorseful for all the horrible times I'd cheated on her with various other women. I was feeling a familiar depression of the loss of my mom, my best friend, the only one who had ever been there for me in my childhood, the one God had taken from me, which was one of the reasons I can't bring myself to rely on Him._

_I closed my eyes tightly, but the silent tears streamed steadily down my face, and a small cry-like gasp jumped from my mouth. My shoulders shook as I fought back sobs I had been suppressing for so many years. "Swan Lake" played on, punctuating this moment powerfully with such beautiful, poignant music._

"_I love you, too," Grace whispered, and I could hear the tears in her voice, "you mean everything to me, Ricky. Shhhh, it's okay, don't worry, I'm here for you," her soothing words were like balm to my soul, and the way she started caressing my hair lovingly made my guilt for ever doing her wrong intensify to excruciating levels._

_We stayed like that, holding each other tightly in each other's arms; my grip on her desperate, not ever wanting to let go while her grip on me had been the support system I needed, her showing me she would always be there for me through the act of a long hug._

_It was now only ten minutes to first bell, and the students that had just before been hanging out on the courtyard came crowding into the halls. I couldn't help but think maybe God's birthday gift to me had been these precious minutes with Grace; minutes that normally would've been tainted with the swarming of our fellow classmates in the hallway. It was strange that they were just now coming in, but I appreciated it dearly._

_I reluctantly pulled away from Grace and wiped away my tears. Grace used the pads of her delicate fingers to gently collect the few tears at the base of my chin that I hadn't gotten to yet. I stooped down and carefully set the snow globe back into the cardboard box. The song swelled to a close and the ballerina stopped twirling around in the same place she'd been before I'd twisted the knob, facing forward at the center of the snow globe. The sounds of chattering students and slamming locker doors filled the silence it left._

_Grace helped me collect all of the bits of wrapping paper and throw them away into a nearby trash can. We both wordlessly reached for the untied royal blue velvet material discarded to the side, our fingers brushing against each other as we did so. We looked up into each other's eyes and shared a warm smile._

"_Here," I said, tucking the light beige-brown cardboard box holding the snow globe under my arm as I rose to full height, "why don't __**you**__ keep the ribbon?"_

_Grace grinned at my suggestion and picked up the ribbon, standing up, her eyes bright. "Awe, thanks! Could you help me put it on?" she asked._

"_Sure," I shrugged, happy to help. Grace gestured to her hair and I, with her help, clumsily tried to tie the bow into her hair, but considering I'm one of those guys who isn't a gay hairdresser, I kept messing it up._

_Grace laughed and finally used the ribbon like a headband to pull back the front of her hair, letting it get that stylish poof girl celebrities seem to like so much, tying the ribbon into a pretty, expert bow. _

"_See, you didn't need my help after all," I pointed out with a chuckle, noticing how extra innocent Grace looked with her blonde hair flowing out of her face, those lightly-colored eyes sparkling. She was the prettiest angel._

"_I know, but I wanted to feel your fingers through my hair," she admitted, no shame and all giggles._

_I chuckled for what felt like the millionth blissful time that morning. The warning bell rang out, and I headed to my locker to stow Grace's present. But before I left, I turned back to Grace to say one final thing. _

"_Thanks again for the gift. I love it so much," for some reason, an emotion I thought I was more immune to than tears hit me hard. It was shyness, and I desperately didn't want to feel bashful, for I feel that's the mark of a weak man. "And I'll always treasure this morning and look back on it in moments of pain."_

_Grace beamed back at me, understanding what I was really trying to tell her. "You're welcome, Ricky," she'd replied, "and I love you, too."_

I came out of my flashback with those long-ago tears stinging my eyes, the memory always alive and fresh in my heart.

What Grace had given me that day was truly the greatest store-bought gift she ever could've gotten me. It had been an identical look-alike snow globe to the one my mom had gotten from her own mom, the one she'd passed down to me on my sixth birthday, just three months before she was killed in a car accident.

My disgusting excuse of a father had sold the snow globe about a year later, even though it was mine. But considering I had only been a helpless child at the time and my dad had started sexually abusing me right after my mom died, I didn't really have a say in it.

I'd told Grace about the snow globe and how it had been one of the only things I'd had left to remember my mom by (besides a picture of her and me on that wonderful sixth birthday or the teddy bear she'd bought when she'd found out she was pregnant with me), describing every little detail about the globe. I'd told Grace about the snow globe a couple of months before that fateful birthday (which happened almost a year ago), and she later explained that it had taken her every day since then, leading up to the week before my birthday, to track it down at some antique shop. She never told me how much it cost, but I knew it had been expensive.

That day had opened up the eyes of my heart that it was okay to accept that I'm in love with Grace, and for a solid two months after that day I didn't cheat on her once and managed to somehow completely avoid Adrian (that probably sounds like such a tiny portion of time to you guys, but to a guy like me, who lives and breathes sex, it was nothing short of a miracle). But it hadn't taken long for the devil to come after me full-throttle through my weak spot for lust, in the form of Adrian arriving at my door step one day after school wearing the cliché nothing-but-a-coat.

I didn't have sex with her that afternoon, but I had made-out with her pretty heavily, and then two days later, not being able to contain the sexual desire that had been consuming me since Adrian's visit, I had sex with one of the members of Grace's cheerleading team, a sexy red-head who was known for using her cheer moves in bed.

I'd reverted to my old self after that and the rest, as they say, is history. I'd only let myself think of Grace as a sexual conquest; nothing more, nothing less. Sure, sometimes I let myself know she was also one of my closest friends and my "girlfriend" (I'm still getting used to labels), but I never again let myself remember that she's also my first love.

Until now.

I turned down the radio in my car before shifting the gear into park and pulling my keys from the ignition, cutting off the engine. I ambled into the liquor shop and picked out a bottle of vodka, nothing fancy, but definitely enough to get me hammered into a coma, which was my goal. If I managed to slip into a coma, I would be able to forget my guilt and love and remorse and sadness and everything would be as dark and empty as my soul, which seemed quite fitting.

I purchased the vodka with my fake I.D. and the rest of my meager money I had left-over in my wallet. I exited the store and decided to venture behind the building, slumping myself against the hard, white-painted brick wall and sinking to the ground.

It was a bit of a chilly night and my dark blue (just like my mood; dark and blue, which is supposed to be the color of sadness, right? But it can also mean "content" on those mood rings…whatever, the point is that I'm feeling dark and sad) T-shirt didn't do much, but I was already so cold on the inside that the outside temperatures didn't really affect me. I opened the bottle of vodka and the overwhelming scent of alcohol assaulted my nose.

I raised the bottle to my lips, holding it by its long neck. I had gotten it off a rack, so it wasn't nicely chilled or anything and the thought of warm vodka repulsed me. I've only gotten drunk once and that was the night of the day I found out Amy was pregnant with my baby. I was so wasted that I could barely stand; needless to say, my foster parents grounded me (how lame) for a month (like that stopped me from doing what I wanted) and gave me a three hour lecture about how bad alcohol is and how it's against the law for me to drink it now (like that actually made me think about my actions). The only thing that made me never want to touch a bottle of anything with alcohol in it ever again was the fact that the following morning of being drunk beyond belief had resulted in me having what I can safely declare the worst hangover anyone's ever had and throwing up on and off all day, with a continuous puke fest clocking in at a full six minutes, which is pretty painful and absolutely disgusting.

I pressed my lips against the rim of the bottle and took a tentative sip. Even just that little bit was revolting and made me flashback to puking my guts out and the sickening splash of vomit hitting the toilet's water.

I set the bottle aside and shivered as I remember how terrible the hangover had been. After a few minutes of closing my eyes and trying to relax against the uncomfortable brick wall, I managed to suck up my wimpy fears and take a big swig of vodka.

It burned down my throat, a rough fizzy feeling that reminded me of how the puke had felt on its way up. _Stop thinking about what'll come tomorrow,_ I scolded myself, _and enjoy the fact that, after some more gulping, you'll be working your way into a peaceful coma of sorts, to a world away from all of the pain and suffering that is your pathetic little life._

My strategy was to sip, swig, then gulp. I knew my stupid stomach couldn't handle chugging it and it would take too long to sip it all night long, so a small sip, a long swig, and a large gulp would be the best combination.

As I was taking a gulp of vodka, I heard a female's voice say, "Mind if I join ya?"

I looked up mid-swallow at the woman and then immediately started choking from shock. As my cursed luck would have it, she was a cop.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Hey guys, I know this update has been a _loooooooong_ time coming, and I have a perfectly good (if not unreasonable) explanation for that. ... Okay, I admit it, my reasons were selfish and bad. :[ Here's the thing, guys: when I don't get reviews, I don't think you guys care if I update or not. It's the sad truth. Reviews motivate me to write the next part of the story faster, to publish it to have your feedback and critiques, to please you guys and reward ya'll for being so great in the reviews. And when I don't get practically _any_ feedback…yeah, you can see how that'd make me a bit down in the dumps and indifferent to when I update next (my fellow fanfic authors, you can totally relate, right?).

Anyway, I've been working on a _Harry Potter_ fanfic I'm probably going to post on this site, and it reminded me of this fanfiction and how I _really_ need to finish it. So here's the latest installment; I promise the next update from this story will come really soon, because I really just want to finish this story already because, honestly, I don't even like _The Secret Life of the American Teenager_ anymore. I stopped watching it, because it got so bad and stupid. Without further ado, right past the disclaimer and reminder, here is the next chapter!! Hope ya'll enjoy it! It was a fun chapter for me to write and I hope it shows. :]

Okay, I lied: one more thing, if there are any grammatical errors, typos, or strangely constructed sentences, it's because I wrote this like three months ago and just went back to write the ending of it. I did read over the part I'd already written and brushed it up here and there, but I just want to hurry up and publish this thing, so, for once, I'm not being OCD about the mechanics, haha. So please just ignore any mistakes and chalk it up to my laziness and eagerness. :]

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _The Secret Life of the American Teenager._ (These things get really annoying and repetitive to put up after a while. Jeez!)

**Reminder:** This story is Alternate Universe, so don't get your panties (or boxers) in a twist if something on here doesn't match up with what is currently on the show. ;-) Haha

**Chapter Five**

**Ricky's Point of View**

I looked up at the cop and could feel the blood filling my face swiftly now, a blush of panic. I took a few quick breaths and reminded myself that I am _the_ Ricky Underwood, and therefore, I am unstoppable. A police officer was _not_ going to shake me up. My face immediately cooled off and I felt in control.

_Mind if I join ya? _Her words echoed in my mind.

"Sure," I was so emotionally tired that I didn't even bother flirting with her to try and make her warm up to me quickly. She was so sexy that it was hard to believe she was a cop.

But the strange thing is, I didn't even feel any like trying to get in her pants. Just a few hours earlier I would've been thrilled at the challenge; a hot older woman who carried around a gun as part of her job description. It would've been fun to lure her to her bedroom or mine (preferably hers, actually, since my foster parents are home; okay, yeah, _definitely_ hers then), but now the thought was far from appealing and all I could think of was Grace smiling, so beautiful and innocent, so perfect, and I was so unworthy of her greatness.

The cop sat down beside me. Her long, jet black hair reminded me of Adrian's, only the cop's was silky straight and so shiny I could practically see my reflection. She had pouty lips and pretty eyes that were amber-colored and gleamed with a sense of optimism that I envied. She looked exotic, maybe from the Caribbean or something, with skin that was a very pale shade of chocolate.

"You don't look quite old enough to be drinking," she sized me up and down.

"I have an I.D.," I tried to keep the defensiveness from creeping into my tone; I think I only succeeded so well because I still felt so guilty and angry at myself that I couldn't really manage much but remorse into my voice.

"Good, because I'm gonna have to card ya," she had a slight accent. Maybe Jamaican? No. Maybe she was from Barbados, like Rihanna. Whatever. I really didn't even care.

What was the point in anything besides my love for Grace and the fact that I was so unworthy of her, so disgusted in myself that we could never be together? I hated myself and everything in the world besides Grace right then.

"Whatever," my tone was so dead sounding. I was so depressed with myself, hated myself so much. Why did God even send me to this horrible world? I wasn't worth anything. I was just a man whore.

I pulled out my fake I.D. and showed it to her. I dared a glance at her expression. Those happy-go-lucky eyes of hers were now clouded with concern. "You okay, kid?" she asked.

She was probably only twenty-three (twenty-five, _max_) and she was calling me kid. For some very strange reason, this comforted me more than making me feel weirded out. For once, I was being noticed as a kid. And that's really what I am. I'm only sixteen, for Pete's sake! I was sick and tired of acting all mature and thirty-year-old-like and I was just now realizing this.

"No, I'm not," there was no point in lying to her. It was plain as day that I was upset (which is really a massive understatement).

She didn't even bother checking my I.D. Instead, she swatted it away with her hand as if it were an annoying mosquito. "You can go ahead and put that back in your wallet," her accent sounded thicker now, "I believe ya."

"Well, you shouldn't," I looked her right in the eyes, "because I'm only sixteen."

Why am I admitting to a cop that I'm illegally drinking? Because I deserved to be thrown in jail, deserved to be punished. I'm not referring to the alcohol here; I'm referring to how awful I've been treating Grace. Cheating on your girlfriend won't get you locked away in the slammer, but underage drinking sure will and I would do anything at that point to be punished. I couldn't stand getting away with being so horrible. My guilt doubled every time I thought about how the only punishment I'd faced thus far was misery. I needed to feel like justice had been served or I'd never be able to attempt to beat this guilt and forgive myself (which is an impossible feat, so why even bother?).

She actually laughed then. Threw her beautiful head back, letting her immaculate hair cascade down her back in a carefree manner, unleashing a loud, mirthful laugh as if I had just said the funniest thing she'd ever heard of.

"Care to let me in on the joke?" I winced inwardly at how zombie-like I sounded. I didn't want to sound like a member of the flesh-eating undead. I wouldn't to sound as full of grief and miserable as I felt, wanted her to ask me why I sounded so horrible so I could tell her it was because I'm a horrible person. Not even a person but a man whore.

"I'll let you see my badge and then I think you'll understand," she giggled, too busy enjoying her little inside joke to bother paying attention to my dead voice.

She pulled out her badge from her front pocket of her police woman's uniform. I noticed how her dark blue shirt was left unbuttoned and how her ample cleavage spilled out, but for the first time since I hit puberty, the sight of her big breasts playing peek-a-boo didn't have me feeling sexually aroused.

She flipped open the black leather front of the badge to show me the inside. She was still giggling merrily and had an expectant look on her face as if she were excited about this joke of hers, whatever it was.

I first noticed how the badge was obviously fake; it was plastic and painted an ugly shade of too-shiny gold and it looked like it would break easily. But even sillier than the clearly fake badge was the fact that "Officer Ima Stripper" was written on it in black Sharpie in what I assumed was her handwriting (very neat penmanship, I might had; oh, and she dotted her i's with big, colored in hearts). The photo I.D. next to her badge showed a picture of her pouting seductively at the camera, her hair falling over her shoulders, her boobs practically popping out of her shirt, revealing some of her lacy red push-up bra. Her lips were as cherry red as her bra and she was wearing a lot of smoky eye make-up in the picture.

In spite of my rotten mood, I chuckled. "Oh, so you're a party stripper?" I smiled a bit. It actually _was_ funny when you think about it. She'd totally fooled me. Boy, I was dumber than I thought.

"Yup," she laughed again, threw her head back and let her hair shake around her face, her boobs jiggling, assuring me they were real.

And yet again this didn't provoke a mountain of lust to go after my private. Maybe Grace's love had cured me? No. I could never be cured. I'm a disgusting slut, nothing more.

"So, Officer Ima, how old are you?" I inquired.

She giggled, the sound so conservative and dainty yet so free and wild at the same time. I wondered what her past was like. She had an air of mystery to her, something that really would've made me attracted to her just hours earlier. This made me think about Adrian and how she'd made it obvious how she has actual feelings for me. Funny in that strange, ironic way how my main sexual partner, the one I'd turned to most in my times of cheating on Grace, would be the one to give me the epiphany that I was leading a terrible life.

"I'm twenty-three," she answered. Even though I had guessed twenty-three as her likely age earlier, this made me feel surprised. She was so young, and for some reason that made it seem really wrong that she would be a stripper, like she was throwing her whole life away or something.

"Do you have a day job?" I asked, curious now.

"I bag groceries at Albertson's," she responded, "I'm only an 'officer of the law' by night." She threw some air quotation marks around the words 'officer of the law' and she let out another one of her giggles. It then struck me that her adorable laughter was much like Grace's. My heart sighed sadly at this.

"You look really down in the dumps, kiddo," she frowned then, those full, glossy lips of hers turning over into a very cute sad face.

"You have no idea," I tried to laugh, lighten my serious mood, but the sound came out sounding dry and mirthless and very much strangled. It even scratched against my throat when it came out, as if protesting against the mere thought of me having any fun.

"My job doesn't start until about two hours and it's only ten minutes away from here, so I have plenty of time for you to spill your guts," the stripper-slash-fake cop suggested. She smiled comfortingly at me. She was very beautiful, but her beauty didn't stand a chance against Grace's.

"If I'm going to do any sort of internal organ spilling to a complete stranger, I might as well know your real name; that is, assuming your birth certificate doesn't actually have the name 'Ima Stripper' on it," despite my aching heart and disgusted-at-myself soul, I felt a genuine smile, albeit small, stretching across my lips. It didn't even show my teeth and I was sure it looked pained, but it was a real smile nonetheless.

She laughed again, one of those people who loves life so much that they can't contain their easy, happy giggles. "Okay, I confess," she held her hands up in mock-surrender, "my _real_ name is Louise. I grew up in Saint Michael, Barbados. I honest-to-God actually knew Rihanna when I was much younger – of course back then she went by her real name, Robyn – but we weren't friends or anything. She was too much of a tomboy for me; I'm a mega girlie-girl. Anyway, I've lived in the U.S. for about ten years now. I started dating the love of my life – my husband, Mark – about three years ago. He proposed after a year of dating and we've been married for about a year and a half now. I'm going to quit being a stripper in a few months, after we've made enough money to pay off some old car payments, and then we're going to start a family. There, is that enough basic information to make you feel comfortable enough to open up to me? Am I no longer a complete and utter stranger?"

Her accent shined through her little monologue very prominently; again, I would've been extremely attracted to her had I not finally accepted my love for Grace Bowman so fully. I was amazed at how easily real love triumphs over lust.

"That's all very interesting, especially the part about Rihanna, but let me ask you a few questions before I tell you the nitty-gritty details that is my life," I leaned further back against the wall, trying to get comfortable. "Oh, and by the way, you're moving up the ladder; you're no longer a _complete_ and utter stranger. Now you're just an _utter_ stranger." I added, feeling a bigger smile working its way across my mouth.

I felt at ease and more relaxed talking to her. I didn't feel extremely depressed at my actions right now; just 'very depressed.' It's not an amazing improvement, but any kind of improvement is to be welcomed with open arms by me right now.

"Okay, shoot," Louise (not exactly the name I pegged her for) smiled warmly, "but not literally, because my bulletproof vest is at the dry cleaner's." She giggled at her own joke, and her goofy sense of humor again brought my thoughts back to Grace.

"_Ohhhh, Riiiiiiick-keeeeyyyyy," Grace sang out in a soprano that would've offended a whole lot of opera singers. "Knock, knock!"_

"_Huh?" I was thoroughly confused, too consumed with thoughts of what Grace would look like naked, and then as some tall brunette senior wearing a super short skirt passed by I was consumed with thoughts of what __**she'd**__ look like naked._

"_I saaaaa-iiiiiid," she broke the simple word into two syllables, her tone upbeat and carefree, "knock, knock!"_

"_Um, who's there?" I asked, lifting my eyebrows. I was perplexed; what the hell was Grace doing? And more importantly, would Rebecca, that hot and spicy raven-haired Italian on the girl's lacrosse team, be up to having sex after with me right after school? She was sashaying right by, her big butt swaying on her hips, her lacrosse stick in her manicured hands, that long black ponytail swinging down her back in a playful but serious way._

"_Olive," Grace giggled, as if she were anticipating the punch line, even though she should know what it was._

"_Olive who?" I decided to throw her a bone and actually look her in the eyes and force a smile, even though my tone was irritated and curt._

"_Olive __**you**__!" Grace delivered, bursting into a fit of adorable giggles._

_For some reason, this annoyed me. "Wow, really original," I rolled my eyes, making Grace stop laughing and start frowning, "where'd ya hear that one from? Spongebob?" Grace was always telling me stupid knock-knock jocks and they were beginning to grate on my last nerve._

_Grace looked so hurt that I mentally kicked myself. "Just kidding, Gracie, that was hilarious," I quickly said in my best smooth-things-over voice and added a blindingly handsome smile into the mix._

_The way-too-naïve-for-her-own-good Grace had bought it, giggling away again, thinking I had been joking with her. I then gave her a quick peck on her smooth cheek (facial, of course, you pervs!) before hurrying after Rebecca, the aforementioned sexy Italian who was really great in the sack._

"_Becca, baby, what up!" I called after her, leaving Grace behind and not even caring if I offended her in so blatantly doing so._

I snapped out of my brief flashback to Louise shaking my shoulder gently and her saying, sounding worried, "Hello, can you hear me? Hello?!"

"Oh, uh, sorry," I managed a sheepish grin, "I was thinking of something is all."

"What a shocker," she jokingly rolled her eyes and smiled. I don't know why, but it just now dawned on me that she had really cute, round dimples. I had been too caught up in those joyful eyes of hers until now, and I was just now noticing her actual smile.

Her teeth were straight except for a couple of slightly crooked ones on the bottom and although they were far from yellow, they weren't exactly pearly white either. Oh, so they were natural then. No braces, no veneers, no whitening. Oddly, this made me feel more comfortable with her. I was having a lot of strange moments tonight.

Anyway, back to the flashback. Let's pause this scene really quickly so I don't get distracted again and have to be shaken to reality by Louise, my faithful Barbadian sidekick. Awe, doesn't Louise look lovely smiling like that in stilled frame? Okay, _anyway_, I have already established (multiple times) that I am an awful person. This flashback proves that. Grace was just trying to joke around with me, maybe even using it as an excuse to confess her love to me in a cute, roundabout way, and I'd completely spat in her face.

I have to make it up to her. I have to make things right with Grace right this instant!

Alright, time to hit 'Play' on this scene. Louise giggles and starts playing with her hair, eyeing my curiously, like I was a very interesting specimen to be dissected. "So, are you going to spill the beans, or what? I only have about an hour and fifty minutes left to have this conversation, you know."

I laughed and rolled my eyes, getting to my feet. As I was dusting off my jeans, I noticed the discarded vodka bottle, still very much full. I picked it up by the neck and glared at it. "You might want to stand back," I advised Louise, warming my arm up to swing.

She immediately obliged and hurried a few feet behind me. "What're you up to now, mister?" she questioned, sounding a mix between amused and apprehensive.

"You'll see," I chuckled, and I liked the sound of it. It wasn't happy yet, but it was definitely a real, genuine chuckle. It's only because I know what I have to do with Grace that this guilt is easing up.

I hurled the vodka bottle at the brick wall with all of my might. I whirl toward Louise and push her down to the ground with me, making sure the impact of it made us roll a good yard away from the shards of glass bottle that were raining from the wall in sharp sprays.

Louise had let out a high-pitched scream when I'd tackled her to the ground, and that we were at a stop, me on top of her in a very awkward position, she was dead quiet.

"Get…off…of…me!" she grunted. I jumped away from her as quickly as I could and offered her my hand to help her up.

"Thanks, pal, but I can take care of myself," she snapped, sounding irritated. She rolled over onto her stomach and pushed herself up to her feet. I noticed that she had some minor cuts and scrapes on her arms and legs from the fall.

I looked at the wall, how the red brick was so much darker in certain areas where it'd been soaked with the vodka. It felt great to finally feel in control for once, to finally have cast out a bad thing from my life.

"You're crazy; you do know that, right?" Louise grumbled, but her tone was more affectionate than resentful.

"Look, I gotta go," I said abruptly, not wanting to delay my plan a second longer. "It was so nice meeting ya; sorry about that whole tackling thing, but I didn't want any wayward glass shards to get ya."

I started taking off for my car, adrenaline pumping in my veins. "Wait!" Louise called after me. I heard the footsteps of her knee-high black boots thumping after me.

I only turned around when I reached my car, feeling impatient already. "Yes?" I asked.

"I didn't even get your name!"

"It's Ricky." I pulled my car keys from my pocket, unlocked the driver's door, and started sliding in.

"Wait!" Louise's hand grabbed my arm, pulling me back toward her. "What's going on, Ricky?" Her accent made my name sound adorable. "Why are you taking off like this, so fast? You're scaring me."

"It's a _long_ story, but I promise to share it with you if you ever wanna talk." I wiggled my arm away from her hand and climbed into my seat, reaching for the seatbelt.

"Alright, here's my number," Louise pulled a business card quite comically out of her cleavage. It was a shiny, metallic gold color with bold black print on it with all her contact information. The same picture from her fake I.D. badge was on it.

"Thanks," I pocketed the business card and fastened my seatbelt. I was just about to pull the door closed when Louise popped her head into my car.

"Call me," she said, her voice seductive and her eyes taking me in, less friendly and more sexual. "If you need _anything_. My husband and I have a very open relationship."

My jaw dropped and I bit back a laugh. "Louise, I'm only sixteen!"

"And I'm only eighteen," she shrugged. "Or twenty. Or really twenty-three. I can be whatever age you want me to be, baby."

This was getting strange. I thought Louise could've been a friend, someone I may actually consider calling to vent to about my wrongdoings, but there's obviously a little bit too much 'stripper' in her for me, the New Ricky.

"No thanks; all I want is to get on the road," I placed my hand on the top of her head, her soft hair tickling my fingers, and very gently nudged her head out of my car. I closed the door and locked the car before she could try to delay me any further.

She did the hand signal for 'call me' (you know, with every finger down but your thumb and pinky, then you tilt your hand to your ear like it's a phone) and blew me a kiss.

I turned my keys in the ignition, and my response was the gentle purr of the car's motor, not the obnoxious music I'd had playing earlier. I didn't need it to drown out my guilt anymore; sure, I still felt miserable, but I also felt free and strangely light, because I know that for once in my life, I'm going to do the right thing.

I drove away from Louise, leaving behind the broken vodka bottle, the bubbly stripper, and my old life. I was on the way to becoming Ricky Underwood version 2.0.

And as the first act of my new beginning, I rolled down the window, ripped up Louise's business car, and let the pieces flutter out like confetti, whipping back down the road. This time around, I wasn't even going to consider temptation.


End file.
